TWENTY 

STELLA    BENSON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


TWENTY 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


TWENTY 


BY 

STELLA  BENSON 

AUTHOR   OF 
"THIS   IS   THE   END,"    "I   POSE" 


Wefor  Iforfc 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1918 

All  rights  reserved 


COPTBIGHT,   1918, 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  June,  1918. 


NortoooD 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


/ft 

6,003 


PREFACE 

ALMOST  all  the  verses  in  this  book  have 
appeared  before,  the  majority  of  them 
included  in  two  books,  /  Pose  and 
This  is  the  End.  Messrs.  Macmillan, 
who  published  these,  have  been  kind 
in  raising  no  objection  to  re-publica- 
tion. I  have  also  to  thank  the  Editors 
of  the  AthencBum,  Everyman,  and  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette  for  allowing  me  to 
reprint  verses. 

The  title  of  the  book  has  no  refer- 
ence to  the  writer's  age. 

S.  B. 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 

CHRISTMAS,  1917 9 

THE  SECRET  DAY 11 

SONG 14 

THE  ORCHARD 16 

THANKS  TO  MY  WORLD  FOR  THE  LOAN  OF 

A  FAIR  DAY 19 

SONG 21 

WORDS 23 

REDNECK'S  SONG 25 

To  THE  UNBORN 27 

THE  NEWER  ZION 29 

Two  WOMEN  SING          ....  34 

THE  WOMAN  ALONE       ....  36 

THE  INEVITABLE 38 

THE  DOG  TUPMAN          ....  40 

SAINT  BRIDE 42 

THE  SLAVE  OF  GOD        .        .  .44 

TRUE  PROMISES 48 

THE  CORNISHMAN 51 

FIVE  SMOOTH  STONES     ....  53 

NEW  YEAB,  1918 59 


CHRISTMAS,   1917 

A  KEY  no  thief  can  steal,  no  time  can 

rust; 
A      faery      door,      adventurous      and 

golden ; 
A   palace,   perfect   to   our   eyes  —  Ah 

must 
Our  eyes  be  holden  ? 

Has  the  past  died  before  this  present 

sin? 
Has     this    most    cruel    age     already 

stoned 

To  martyrdom  that  magic  Day,  within 
Those  halls,  enthroned  ? 

9 


10  CHRISTMAS,   1917 

No.     Through    the    dancing    of    the 

young  spring  rain, 
Through   the  faint  summer,   and   the 

autumn's  burning, 

Our  still  immortal  Day  has  heard  again 
Our  steps  returning. 


THE  SECRET  DAY 

MY  yesterday  has  gone,  has  gone  and 

left  me  tired, 
And  now  to-morrow  comes  and  beats 

upon  the  door; 
So  I  have  built  To-day,  the  day  that 

I  desired, 
Lest  joy  come  not  again,  lest  peace 

return  no  more, 
Lest  comfort  come  no  more. 

So  I  have  built  To-day,  a  proud  and 

perfect  day, 
And  I  have  built  the  towers  of  cliffs 

upon  the  sands ; 
The  foxgloves  and  the  gorse  I  planted 

on  my  way ; 

11 


12  THE  SECRET  DAY 

The  thyme,  the  velvet  thyme,  grew  up 

beneath  my  hands, 
Grew  pink  beneath  my  hands. 

So     I     have     built     To-day,     more 

precious  than  a  dream ; 
And  I  have  painted  peace  upon  the 

sky  above ; 
And  I  have  made  immense  and  misty 

seas,  that  seem 
More  kind  to  me  than  life,  more  fair 

to  me  than  love  - 
More  beautiful  than  love. 

And  I  have  built  a  house  —  a  house 
upon  the  brink 

Of  high  and  twisted  cliffs;  the  sea's 
low  singing  fills  it ; 

And  there  my  Secret  Friend  abides, 
and  there  I  think 

I'll  hide  my  heart  away  before  to- 
morrow kills  it  — 

A  cold  to-morrow  kills  it. 


THE   SECRET  DAY          13 

Yes,  I  have  built  To-day,  a  wall  against 

To-morrow, 
So  let  To-morrow  knock  —  I  shall  not 

be  afraid, 
For  none  shall  give  me  death,  and  none 

shall  give  me  sorrow, 
And  none  shall  spoil  this  darling  day 

that  I  have  made. 
No  storm  shall  stir  my  sea.     No  night 

but  mine  shall  shade 
This  day  that  I  have  made. 


SONG 

THERE  is  the  track  my  feet  have  worn 
By  which  my  fate  may  find  me : 
From  that  dim  place  where  I  was  born 
Those  footprints  run  behind  me. 
Uncertain  was  the  trail  I  left, 
For  —  oh,  the  way  was  stormy ; 
But  now  this  splendid  sea  has  cleft 
My  journey  from  before  me. 

Three  things  the  sea  shall  never  end, 
Three  things  shall  mock  its  power : 
My  singing  soul,  my  Secret  Friend, 
And  this,  my  perfect  hour. 

14 


SONG  15 

And  you  shall  seek  me  till  you  reach 

The  tangled  tide  advancing, 

And  you  shall  find  upon  the  beach 

The  traces  of  my  dancing, 

And  in  the  air  the  happy  speech 

Of  Secret  Friends  romancing. 


THE  ORCHARD 

I  WILL  repent  me  of  my  ways ; 
I  will  come  here  and  bury 
Five  thousand  odd  superfluous  days 
Beneath  a  flow'ring  cherry. 

Between  a  pear  and  a  cherry  tree 
My  temple  I  will  enter  — 
My  place,  where  even  I  may  be 
The  altar  and  the  centre. 

One  altar  to  a  thousand  aisles, 
A  hundred  thousand  arches  .  .  . 
The  loud  lamb-choir  about  me  files, 
The  bleating  bishop  marches, 

The  congregation  kneels  and  nods, 
The  bishop  leads  its  praises, 

16 


THE   ORCHARD  17 

So  I'll  pray  too,  to  their  dim  gods 
Whose  feet  are  decked  with  daisies : 

Ah,  let  me  not  grow  old.     Ah,  let 
Me  not  grow  old,  and  falter 
In  my  delusion,  or  forget 
My  heart  was  once  an  altar. 
Let  me  still  think  myself  a  star 
With  these  my  rays  about  me; 
Pretend  these  green  perspectives  are 
All  purposeless  without  me. 

Ah,  bid  the  sun  stand  still.       Ah, 

bid 

The  coming  night  retire, 
And  all  the  good  I  ever  did 
Shall  feed  your  altar  fire; 
The  hour  shall  stand  and  sing  your 

praise, 

The  minute  shall  adore  you, 
And     my     ten     thousand     unborn 

days 
Til  sacrifice  before  you. 


18  THE  ORCHARD 

Gods  of  great  joy,  and  little  grief. 
See  —  I  will  wear  as  token 
A  pear  leaf  and  a  cherry  leaf 
Until  this  pledge  be  broken.  .  .  . 

Between  a  pear  and  a  cherry  tree 
A  cold  hand  touched  my  shoulder  — 

Ah,   my  false  gods  have  forsaken 
me, 

I  am  a  minute  older. 


THANKS   TO    MY    WORLD    FOR 
THE  LOAN  OF  A  FAIR  DAY 

THAT  day  you  wrought  for  me 
Shone,  and  was  ended. 
Perfect  your  thought  for  me, 
Whom  you  befriended. 
Such  joy  was  new  to  me  — 
New,  and  most  splendid, 
More  than  was  due  to  me. 
More  than  was  due  to  me. 

Though  I  do  wrong  to  you, 
Having  no  power, 
Singing  no  song  to  you, 
Bringing  no  flower, 
Yet  does  my  youth  again 
Thrill,  for  the  hour 
Cometh  in  truth  again. 
Cometh  in  truth  again. 

19 


20  THANKS  TO  MY  WORLD 

I  shall  possess  to-day 
All  I  have  wanted, 
All  I  lacked  yesterday 
Now  shall  be  granted. 
No  longer  dumb  to  you, 
Changed  and  enchanted, 
Singing  I'll  come  to  you. 
Singing  I'll  come  to  you. 

I  will  amass  for  you 
Very  great  treasure. 
Swift  years  shall  pass  for  you 
Dancing  for  pleasure. 
Time  shall  be  slave  to  me, 
Giving  —  full  measure  — 
All  that  you  gave  to  me. 
All  that  you  gave  to  me. 


IF  I  have  dared  to  surrender  some  imi- 
tation of  splendour, 

Something  I  knew  that  was  tender, 
something  I  loved  that  was  brave, 

If  in  my  singing  I  shewed  songs  that  I 
heard  on  my  road, 

Were  they  not  debts  that  I  owed, 
rather  than  gifts  that  I  gave  ? 

If  certain  hours  on  their  climb  up  the 
long  ladder  of  time 

Turned  my  confusion  to  rhyme,  drove 
me  to  dare  an  attempt, 

If  by  fair  chance  I  might  seem  some- 
times abreast  of  my  theme, 

Was  I  translating  a  dream  ?  Was  it  a 
dream  that  you  dreamt  ? 

21 


W  SONG 

High  and  miraculous  skies  bless  and 

astonish  my  eyes; 
All  my  dead  secrets  arise,  all  my  dead 

stories  come  true. 
Here  is  the  Gate  to  the  Sea.     Once  you 

unlocked  it  for  me ; 
Now,  since  you  gave  me  the  key,  shall 

I  unlock  it  for  you  ? 


WORDS 

OH  words,  oh  words,   and   shall  you 

rule 
The    world?      What    is    it    but    the 

tongue 

That  doth  proclaim  a  man  a  fool, 
So  that  his  best  songs  go  unsung, 
So  that  his  dreams  are  sent  to  school 
And  all  die  young. 

There  pass  the  traveling  dreams,  and 

these 

My  soul  adores — my  words  condemn — 
Oh,  I  would  fall  upon  my  knees 
To  kiss  their  golden  garments'  hem, 
Yet  words  do  lie  in  wait  to  seize 
And  murder  them. 

23 


24  WORDS 

To-night     the     swinging     stars     shall 

plumb 

The  silence  of  the  sky.     And  herds 
Of  plumed  winds  like  huntsmen  come 
To  hunt  with  dreams  the  restless  birds. 
To-night  the    moon   shall  strike    you 

dumb, 
Oh  words,  oh  words.  .  .  . 


REDNECK'S  SONG 

THESE  thirty  years 

Old  men  have  filled  my  ears 

With  middle-aged  ideas 

That  never  have  been  young, 

They  made  me  wise. 

I  learnt  to  whitewash  lies. 

I  learnt  to  shut  my  eyes, 

And  hold  my  tongue. 

Damned  Philistine. 
And  was  it  then  so  fine 
To  learn  to  draw  the  line. 
(Is  there  a  line  to  draw  ?) 
And  must  I  then 
For  threescore  years  and  ten 
Worship  the  laws  of  men 
Who  worshipped  law  ? 

25 


26  REDNECK'S   SONG 

Those  laws  are  dust 
To-day,  and  yet  I  must 
Be  faithful  still,  and  trust 
In  what  dead  men  did  prove. , 
Magic  may  kill 
Their  wisdom  and  their  will, 
Yet  I  must  follow  still 
Their  path  .  .  .  my  groove.  . 


TO  THE  UNBORN 

OH,   bend  your  eyes,   nor   send  your 

glance  about. 
Oh,  watch  your  feet,  nor  stray  beyond 

the  kerb. 
Oh,  bind  your  heart  lest  it  find  secrets 

out. 

For  thus  no  punishment 
Of  magic  shall  disturb 
Your  very  great  content. 

Oh,  shut  your  lips  to  words  that  are 

forbidden. 
Oh,  throw  away  your  sword,  nor  think 

to  fight. 
Seek  not  the  best,  the  best  is  better 

hidden. 

27 


28  TO  THE  UNBORN 

Thus  need  you  have  no  fear, 

No  terrible  delight 

Shall  cross  your  path,  my  dear. 

Call   no   man   foe,   but   never   love   a 

stranger. 

Build  up  no  plan,  nor  any  star  pursue. 
Go  forth  with  crowds ;   in  loneliness  is 

danger. 

Thus  nothing  God  can  send, 
And  nothing  God  can  do 
Shall  pierce  your  peace,  my  friend. 


THE  NEWER  ZION 

WHEN  I  achieve  the  chestnut  joke  of 

dying, 
When    I    slip   through   that    Gate    at 

Kensal  Green, 
Shall     I    go    spoil    the    fantasy    by 

prying 
Behind    the    staging    of    this    darling 

scene  ? 

Shall  I  —  a  cast-off  puppet  —  seek  to 

study 
The   Showman   who   manipulates   the 

strings, 
The    Hand    that    paints    the    western 

drop-scene  ruddy, 
The  prosy   truths   of  all  these  faery 

things  ? 

29 


30          THE  NEWER  ZION 

Shall  I  —  self-conscious  by  a  glassy 
ocean  — 

Stammer  strange  songs  amid  an  alien 
host? 

Or  shall  I  not,  refusing  such  promo- 
tion, 

Bequeath  to  London  my  contented 
ghost  ? 


I  will  come  back  to  my  Eternal 
City; 

Her  fogs  once  more  my  countenance 
shall  dim ; 

I  will  enliven  your  austere  com- 
mittee 

With  gossip  gleaned  among  the 
cherubim. 

By  day  I'll  tread  again  the  sounding 

mazes, 
By  night  I'll  track  the  moths  about 

the  Park ; 


THE  NEWER  ZION         31 

My  feet  shall  fall  among  the  dusky 

daisies, 
Nor  break  nor  bruise  a  petal  in  the 

dark. 


I  will  repeat  old  inexpensive  orgies ; 

Drink  nectar  at  the  bun-shop  in  Shore- 
ditch, 

Or  call  for  Nut-Ambrosia  at  St. 
George's. 

And  with  a  ghost-tip  make  the  waitress 
rich. 


My  soundless  feet  shall  fly  among  the 

runners 
Through     the     red     thunders     of     a 

Zeppelin  raid, 
My  still  voice  cheer  the  Anti-Aircraft 

gunners, 
The    fires    shall    glare  —  but    I    shall 

cast  no  shade. 


32          THE  NEWER  ZION 

And    if    a    Shadow,    wading    in    the 

torrent 
Of  high  excitement,  snatch  me  from 

the  riot  — 
(Fool  that  he  is)  —  and  fumble  with 

his  warrant, 
And   hail   a   hearse,   and   beg   me   to 

"Go  quiet." 


Mocking  I'll  go,  and  he  shall  be  postil- 
lion, 

Until  we  reach  the  Keeper  of  the 
Door: 

"Hm  .  .  .  Benson  .  .  .  Stella  .  .  . 
militant  civilian  .  .  . 

There's  some  mistake,  we've  had  this 
soul  before. 


Ah,  none  shall  keep  my  soul  from  this 
its  Zion ; 


THE   NEWER  ZION          33 

Lost  in  the  spaces  I  shall  hear  and 

bless 
The  splendid  voice  of  London,  like  a 

lion 
Calling  its  lover  in  the  wilderness. 


TWO  WOMEN  SING 

FIRST  WOMAN 

OH  woman  —  woman  —  woman,  — 
Shall  I  to  woman  be  a  friend  ? 
I  deal  with  man,  and  when  I  can 
Reclaim  with  interest  all  I  lend. 
Who  but  a  witless  gambler  plays 
For  farthing  stakes  these  golden  days  ? 
No,  woman  —  woman  —  woman  — 
Must  only  play  the  game  that  pays. 

SECOND  WOMAN 

Oh  woman  —  woman  —  woman,  — 
To-morrow  woman  shall  awake. 
She  shall  arise,  and  realise 
The  goodly  value  of  her  stake. 

84 


TWO  WOMEN   SING         35 

And  she  shall  lend  her  loan,  and  claim 
Her  rightful  interest  on  the  same. 
So  woman  —  woman  —  woman  — 
Shall  learn  at  last  the  paying  game. 


THE  WOMAN  ALONE 

MY  eyes  are  girt  with  outer  mists ; 

My  ears  sing  shrill,  and  this  I  bless ; 

My  finger-nails  do  bite  my  fists 

In  ecstasy  of  loneliness. 

This  I  intend,  and  this  I  want, 

That  —  passing  —  you  may  only  mark 

A  dumb  soul  with  its  confidant 

Entombed  together  in  the  dark. 

The    hoarse    church-bells    of    London 

ring; 

The  hoarser  horns  of  London  croak ; 
The  poor  brown  lives  of  London  cling 
About    the    poor    brown    streets    like 

smoke ; 

The  deep  air  stands  above  my  roof 
Like  water,  to  the  floating  stars. 

36 


THE  WOMAN  ALONE       37 

My  Friend  and  I  —  we  sit  aloof, 
We  sit  and  smile,  and  bind  our  scars. 

For  you  may  wound  and  you  may  kill — 
It's  such  a  little  thing  to  die  — 
Your  cruel  God  may  work  his  will, 
We  do  not  care,  my  Friend  and  I. 
Though,  at  the  gate  of  Paradise, 
Peter  the  Saint  withhold  his  keys, 
My  Friend  and  I  —  we  have  no  eyes 
For  Heav'n  or  Hell  —  or  dreams  like 
these. 


THE  INEVITABLE 

There  is  a  sword,  a  fatal  blade, 
Unthwarted,  subtle  as  the  air, 
And  I  could  meet  it  unafraid 
If  I  might  only  meet  it  fair. 
Yet  how  I  wonder  why  the  Smith 
Who  wrought  that  steel  of  subtle  grain 
Should  also  be  contented  with 
So  blunt  and  mean  a  thing  as  pain. 

The  stars  and  fire-flies  dance  in  rings. 
The  fire-flies  set  my  heart  alight, 
Like  fingers,  writing  magic  things 
In  flame,  upon  the  wall  of  night. 
There  is  high  meaning  in  the  skies  — 
(The    stars    and    fire-flies  —  high    and 

low  — ) 

And  all  the  spangled  world  is  wise 
With  knowledge  that  I  almost  know. 

38 


THE  INEVITABLE  39 

To-morrow  I  will  don  my  cloak 

Of  opal-grey,  and  I  will  stand 

Where   the   palm-shadows   stride   like 

smoke 

Across  the  dazzle  of  the  sand. 
To-morrow  I  will  throw  this  blind 
Blind  whiteness  from  my  soul  away, 
And    pluck    this    blackness    from    my 

mind, 
And  only  leave  the  medium  —  grey. 

To-morrow  I  will  cry  for  gains 
Upon  the  blue  and  brazen  sky. 
The  precious  venom  in  my  veins 
To-morrow  will  be  parched  and  dry. 
To-morrow  it  shall  be  my  goal 
To  throw  myself  away  from  me, 
To  lose  the  outline  of  my  soul 
Against  the  greyness  of  the  sea. 


THE  DOG  TUPMAN 

OH  little  friend  of  half  my  days, 
My  little  friend,  who  followed  me 
Along  those  crooked  sullen  ways 
That  only  you  had  eyes  to  see. 

You  felt  the  same.     You  understood 
You  too,  defensive  and  morose, 
Encloaked  your  secret  puppyhood  — 
Your  secret  heart  —  and  hid  them  close. 

For  I  alone  have  seen  you  serve, 
Disciple  of  those  early  springs, 
With  ears  awry  and  tail  a-curve 
You  lost  yourself  in  puppy  things. 

And  you  saw  me.     You  bore  in  mind 
The  clean  and  sunny  things  I  felt 


40 


THE   DOG  TUPMAN         41 

When,  throwing  hate  along  the  wind, 
I  flashed  the  lantern  at  my  belt. 

The  moment  passed,  and  we  returned 
To  barren  words  and  old  cold  truth, 
Yet  in  our  hearts  our  lanterns  burned, 
We  two  had  seen  each  other's  youth. 

When  filthy  pain  did  wrap  me  round 
Your  upright  ears  I  always  saw, 
And  on  my  outflung  hand  I  found 
The  blessing  of  your  horny  paw ; 

And  yet  —  oh  impotence  of  men  — 
My  paw,  more  soft  but  not  more  wise, 
Old  friend,  was  lacking  to  you  when 
You  looked  your  crisis  in  the  eyes.  .  .  . 

You    shared    my    youth,    oh    faithful 

friend, 

You  let  me  share  your  puppyhood ; 
So,  if  I  failed  you  in  the  end, 
My  friend,  my  friend,  you  understood. 


SAINT  BRIDE 

ABOUT  your  brow  a  starry  wreath, 

About  your  feet  a  wilderness, 

Where   young    hot    hopes    grow    cold 

beneath 

The  tangled  bondage  of  the  press. 
Set  like  a  saint  within  a  niche  — 
A  strait  and  narrow  niche  —  you  hide, 
And  weave  a  veil  about  you,  which 
Can  turn  our  steel,  Saint  Bride,  Saint 

Bride. 

The  eyes  of  coarse  and  pond'rous  man 

Are  sceptic  and  satirical. 

"  What,  little  saint,  and  still  you  scan 

Old  heaven  for  that  miracle  ?  " 

Oh  heart  deceived,  yet  harmed  not, 

42 


SAINT  BRIDE  43 

Child-widow  of  a  truth  that  died, 
Bearer  in  mind  of  things  forgot, 
Bride  of  a  dream,  Saint  Bride,  Saint 
Bride. 

About  you  and  about  you  thunders 
The  wise  young  public  on  its  'bus, 
Exploding  all  your  faery  blunders, 
Explaining  neatly  —  "  Thus  and  thus 
Hath  science  banished  heaven  now, 
And  see  —  your  Groom  is  crucified  — " 
On  heaven's  breast  you  lean  your  brow 
And   laugh,   and   love  —  Saint   Bride, 
Saint  Bride. 


THE  SLAVE  OF  GOD 

THE  finest  fruit  God  ever  made 
Hangs  from  the  Tree  of  Heaven  blue. 
It  hangs  above  the  steel  sea  blade 
That  cuts  the  world's  great  globe  in 
two. 

The  keenest  eye  that  ever  saw 
Stares  out  of  Heaven  into  mine, 
Spins   out   my   heart,    and    seems    to 

draw 
My  soul's  elastic  very  fine. 

The  greatest  beacon  ever  fired 
Stands  up  on  Heaven's  Hill  to  show 
The  limit  of  the  thing  desired, 
Beyond  which  man  may  never  go. 


*         * 

44 


THE  SLAVE   OF  GOD        45 

At  midnight,  when  the  night  did 

dance 
Along    the    hours    that    led    to 

morning, 

I  saw  a  little  boat  advance 
Towards  the  great  moon's  beacon 

warning. 

(The    moon,    God's    Slave,    who 

lights  her  torch, 
Lest  men  should  slip  between  the 

bars, 
And  run  aground  on  Heav'n,  and 

scorch 
To  death  upon  a  bank  of  stars.) 

The  little  boat,  on  leaning  keel, 
Sang  up  the  mountains  of  the  sea, 
Bearing  a  man  who  hoped  to  steal 
God's  Slave  from  out  eternity. 

"  My  love,  I  see  you  through  my  tears. 
No  pity  in  your  face  I  see. 


46        THE   SLAVE  OF  GOD 

I  have  sailed  far  across  the  years : 
Stretch  out,  stretch  out  your  arms  to  me. 

"My  love,  I  have  an  island  seen, 
So  shadowed,  God's  most  piercing  star 
Shall  never  see  where  we  have  been, 
Shall  never  whisper  where  we  are. 

"  There  we  will  wander,  you  and  7, 
Down  guilty  and  delightful  ways, 
While    palm-trees    plait    their    fingers 

high 
Against  your  God's  enormous  gaze. 

"For  oh  —  the  joy  of  two  and  two 
Your  Paradise  shall  never  see, 
The  ecstasy  of  me  and  you, 
The  white  delight  of  you  and  me. 

"I  know  the  penalty  —  the  clutch 
Of  God's  great  rocks  upon  my  keel. 
Drowned  in  the  ocean  of  Too  Much  — 
So  ends  your  thief — yet  let  me  steal.  ..." 


THE   SLAVE  OF   GOD        47 

The  Slave  of  God  she  froze  her 

face, 

The  Slave  of  God  she  paid  no  need, 
And,  thund'ring  down  high 

Heaven's  space, 
Loud  angels  mocked  the  sailor's 

greed. 

The  diamond  sun  arose,  and  tossed 
A  billion  gems  across  the  sea. 
"  The  Slave  of  God  is  lost,  is  lost, 
The  Slave  of  God  is  lost  to  me.  ..." 

He    grounded    on    the    common 

beach, 

He  trod  the  little  towns  of  men, 
And  God  removed  from  his  reach 
The  cup  of  Heaven's  passion  then, 
And  gave  him  vulgar  love  and 

speech, 
And    gave   him    threescore   years 

and  ten. 


TRUE  PROMISES 

You  promised  War  and  Thunder  and 

Romance. 
You  promised  true,  but  we  were  very 

blind 

And  very  young,  and  in  our  ignorance 
We  never  called  to  mind 
That  truth  is  seldom  kind. 

You    promised    love,    immortal   as    a 

star. 
You  promised  true,  yet  how  the  truth 

can  lie ! 
For  now  we  grope  for  hands  where  no 

hands  are, 

And,  deathless,  still  we  cry, 
Nor  hope  for  a  reply. 

48 


TRUE   PROMISES  49 

You  promised  harvest  and  a  perfect 

yield. 
You  promised  true,  for  on  the  harvest 

morn, 
Behold    a    reaper    strode    across    the 

field, 

And  man  of  woman  born 
Was  gathered  in  as  corn. 

You  promised  honour  and  ordeal  by 

flame. 
You     promised     true.       In     joy     we 

trembled  lest 
We  should  be  found  unworthy  when 

it  came ; 

But  —  oh  —  we  never  guessed 
The  fury  of  the  test ! 

You  promised  friends  and  songs  and 

festivals. 
You  promised  true.     Our  friends,  who 

still  are  young, 


50  TRUE  PROMISES 

Assemble  for   their  feasting   in   those 

halls 

Where  speaks  no  human  tongue. 
And  thus  our  songs  are  sung. 


THE  CORNISHMAN 

AT  sunset,  when  the  high  sea  span 
About  the  rocks  a  web  of  foam, 
I  saw  the  ghost  of  a  Cornishman 
Come  home. 

I  saw  the  ghost  of  a  Cornishman 
Run  from  the  weariness  of  war, 
I  heard  him  laughing  as  he  ran 
Across  his  unforgotten  shore. 
The  great  cliff,  gilded  by  the  west, 
Received  him  as  an  honoured  guest. 
The  green  sea,  shining  in  the  bay, 
Did  drown  his  dreadful  yesterday. 

Come  home,  come  home,  you  million 

ghosts, 

The  honest  years  shall  make  amends, 
The  sun  and  moon  shall  be  your  hosts, 
The  everlasting  hills  your  friends. 

51 


52         THE   CORNISHMAN 

And   some   shall   seek   their   mothers' 

faces, 

And  some  shall  run  to  trysting  places, 
And  some  to  towns,  and  other  yet 
Shall  find  great  forests  in  their  debt. 

Oh,  I  would  siege  the  golden  coasts 

Of  space,  and  climb  high  heaven's 
dome, 

So    I    might    see    those    million 
ghosts 

Come  home. 


FIVE  SMOOTH  STONES 

IT  was  young  David,  lord  of  sheep  and 

cattle, 
Pursued    his    fate,    the    April    fields 

among, 

Singing  a  song  of  solitary  battle, 
A  loud  mad   song,   for  he   was   very 

young. 

Vivid  the  air  —  and  something  more 

than  vivid,  — 
Tall    clouds    were    in    the    sky  —  and 

something  more,  — 
The  light  horizon  of  the  spring  was 

livid 
With  a  steel   smile  that  showed  the 

teeth  of  war. 

53 


54     FIVE  SMOOTH  STONES 

It    was    young    David    mocked    the 

Philistine. 
It  was  young  David  laughed  beside  the 

river. 
There  came  his  mother  —  his  and  yours 

and  mine  — 
With  five  smooth  stones,  and  dropped 

them  in  his  quiver. 

You   never   saw   so   green-and-gold   a 

fairy. 
You     never     saw     such     very     April 

eyes. 
She  sang  him  sorrow's  song  to  make 

him  wary, 
She  gave  him  five  smooth  stones  to 

make  him  wise. 

The  first  stone  is  love,  and  that  shall 

fail  you. 
The  second  stone  is  hate,  and  that  shall 

fail  you. 


FIVE   SMOOTH  STONES     55 

The  third  stone  is  knowledge,  and  that 

shall  fail  you. 
The  fourth  stone  is  prayer,  and  that 

shall  fail  you. 
The  fifth  stone  shall  not  fail  you. 


For   what    is   love,    O   lovers    of    my 

tribe  ? 
And  what  is  love,   O  women  of  my 

day? 
Love    is    a   farthing   piece,    a   bloody 

bribe 
Pressed    in    the   palm   of    God  —  and 

thrown  away. 

And  what  is  hate,  O  fierce  and  unfor- 
giving ? 

And  what  shall  hate  achieve,  when  all 
is  said  ? 

A  silly  joke  that  cannot  reach  the 
living, 

A  spitting  in  the  faces  of  the  dead. 


56     FIVE   SMOOTH   STONES 

And  what  is  knowledge,  O  young  men 

who  tasted 
The   reddest   fruit   on   that   forbidden 

tree? 
Knowledge    is    but    a    painful    effort 

wasted, 
A  bitter  drowning  in  a  bitter  sea. 


And  what  is  prayer,  O  waiters  for  the 

answer  ? 
And  what  is  prayer,  O  seekers  of  the 

cause  ? 
Prayer  is  the  weary  soul  of  Herod's 

dancer, 
Dancing   before   blind   kings   without 

applause. 


The  fifth  stone  is  a  magic  stone,  my 

David, 
Made  up  of  fear  and  failure,  lies  and 

loss. 


FIVE   SMOOTH  STONES     57 

Its  heart  is  lead,  and  on  its  face  is 

graved 
A  crooked  cross,  my  son,  a  crooked 

cross. 

It  has  no  dignity  to  lend  it  value ; 
No  purity  —  alas,  it  bears  a  stain. 
You  shall  not  give  it  gratitude,  nor 

shall  you 
Recall  it  all  your  days,  except  with 

pain. 

Oh,  bless  your  blindness,  glory  in  your 

groping ! 
Mock  at  your  betters  with  an  upward 

chin ! 
And  when  the  moment  has  gone  by 

for  hoping, 
Sling  your  fifth  stone,  O  son  of  mine, 

and  win. 

Grief  do  I  give  you,  grief  and  dreadful 
laughter ; 


58     FIVE   SMOOTH  STONES 

Sackcloth  for  banner,   ashes   in  your 

wine. 
Go  forth,  go  forth,  nor  ask  me  what 

comes  after ; 
The  fifth  stone  shall  not  fail  you,  son 

of  mine. 

GO  FORTH,  GO  FORTH,  AND  SLAY  THE 
PHILISTINE. 


NEW  YEAR,   1918 

A  SONG  I  never  heard 

I  must  rehearse, 

Counting  each  hour  a  word, 

Counting  each  day  a  verse. 

Not  of  my  proper  choice 

Raise  I  my  voice, 

While  others  —  fierce  and  strong 

Raise  theirs  to  drown  my  song. 

Must  I  then  sing  aloud, 

Faint  as  a  bird, 

And,  like  a  bird,  be  proud 

To  sing  —  to  sing  unheard  ? 

Weary  and  very  weak, 

Shall  I  then  seek 

A  hearing,  idiot-wise, 

From  the  unhearing  skies  ? 

59 


60  NEW   YEAR,    1918 

Drowning  my  whispered  dreams, 

Great  voices  cry. 

They  sing  their  songs,  it  seems, 

With  better  heart  than  I. 

Hush  —  I  can  hear  Death  sing  — 

"Here  is  my  sting" 

And  the  Grave  echo  — "See, 

Here  is  my  victory." 

To-night  the  heavens  bend 

A  little  nearer. 

The  singer  is  my  friend, 

And  I  --  at  last  —  the  hearer. 

No  more  to  sing  alone 

A  song  unknown,  — 

Hush  —  very  tense  and  thin, 

The  dawn-like  notes  begin. 

THE   END 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


E   following   pages  contain   advertisements  of 
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I  Pose 

BY   STELLA   BENSON 

Price  $1.25 

The  Gardener  loves  the  Suffragette !  To- 
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desperate  woman.  They  are  real  people,  not 
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The  adventures  of  these  two  take  them  to 
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"  In  Miss  Stella  Benson  we  have  to  greet  an 
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THREE  RECENT  VOLUMES   OF  POETRY 

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"  The  natural  child  of  Walt  Whitman  .  .  .  the  only  poet  with 
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"  Toward  the  Gulf"  is  a  series  of  fearlessly  true  and  beautiful 
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Reincarnations 

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